


The Embassy of the Greenwood

by Tethys_resort



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bullying, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, Diplomacy, Ice Cream, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Insults, Lindon (Tolkien), M/M, Making Friends, Political Alliances, Political Expediency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21989662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tethys_resort/pseuds/Tethys_resort
Summary: The Embassy of the Greenwood is NOT a hit with the Palace in Lindon.  Or, Prince Thranduil meets the House of Elrond.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Erestor & Glorfindel, Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 106





	1. In which Erestor decides to try ice cream rather than knifing the Ambassador.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: politics, bullying, people with stupid biases, people with paradigm problems. As always, contact me if you have questions or concerns.

Lindir peered around the corner. The Ambassador to the Woodland Realm and his staff had the bad habit of appearing suddenly here and there about the Palace. 

He can’t stay in the Holly Wing forever, but he has no nice memories of the Wood and no desire to encounter any members of the Embassy. They had definitely recognized him at the music evening last week and had since been asking various members of the Palace staff about him. He’s not sure if they intend to capture him as a runaway, or possibly bring charges against him. He’s pretty certain that Lord Elrond would manage to rescue him, but he still doesn’t want to risk it. 

King Oropher has no pity for servants who fail in their duties, and running away from the Woodland Realm rather than going to perform before the Court as ordered would definitely be counted as a failure. 

Unconsciously, his hand clenched making the old breaks ache. They had healed out of alignment the second time (despite the efforts of the healer he had seen before running) and Lord Elrond had been forced re-break the bones yet again to heal them straight. A musician, like an archer, requires two good hands unless he wants to be limited to simple drum beats, single harp notes and voice.

As chief minstrel of the House of Elrond he has certain responsibilities, like attending the weekly gathering of minstrels who lived in the various Houses in and around the Palace. Truthfully, he found quite a few of them untalented, pretentious and vain. But the meeting is good for gathering information, something Lord Elrond and Lord Erestor have specifically charged him with. 

“You’re of age now Lindir, and have been for three centuries.” While he hesitated, Lord Elrond had walked up behind him.

Lindir sighed. “I know my Lord, but I was underage when I ran. And then there was the thing with my parents. It made me an automatic fugitive.” 

Elrond paused and stared at Lindir before he said, “The Minstrel’s meeting is by the library, correct? If we go upstairs we can take the roof walkway around the edge to the Maple Wing.” 

Lindir’s heart rose at another option other than braving the central corridors and he smiled as they walked up the stairs away from the main doors. 

Elrond can’t say that he likes the Embassy either.

After being briefly introduced to the Ambassador a few weeks ago, Elrond suspects that a half Man, half Elf lord of incredibly mixed background is probably on the Ambassador’s personal list of least favorite people simply on principle. He had looked down at Elrond (Elrond was shorter for an elf but even elves as tall as Glorfindel didn’t usually give the impression of looking down on him) and instead of returning Elrond’s polite greeting said, “This is the Peredhel? He looks very Mannish doesn’t he?”

The Palace was full of petty lords who made a point of trying to snub him. They had plenty of fodder: his upbringing in Feanorian encampments and the minor horde of Feanorians sheltered in his House were the most common. Being named Herald had made a few (mostly those with big dreams) upset. His and Elros’ wardship under King Gil-galad was still another point of contention. It had ended about 1500 years ago but was never forgotten by the families who (especially after Elros’ departure) had hoped and prayed that Elrond would be married off to one of their daughters. (Or, in a pinch, one of their sons. They weren’t picky on that point.)

The Ambassador to the Woodland Realm was the first time he had ever felt judged for the mortal blood. 

Elrond made a minor detour to walk his chief minstrel to the lesser Hall where the other minstrels in the Palace were meeting. The daily Council should be shorter than their meeting, he’ll have to remember to swing back by and publicly order Lindir to accompany him back to the Holly Wing. If Lindir is that frightened of the Embassy, he may have good reason. If the Embassy decides to formally charge Lindir with crimes it is easily dealt with, but Elrond would never forgive himself if the young minstrel were kidnapped and dragged bodily back to the Woodland Realm instead. 

***

Two weeks later, Elrond went to the stables and watched the training group of his Guard come in, noting the tattered and shaggy but healthy condition of each and every horse and elf. 

Erestor also went to the stables, and while he noted the condition of the group (and made mental lists of supplies and repairs to be ordered) most of his focus was on his mate. Glorfindel was as tattered and grimy as his Guards, but looked satisfied with the group as he dismissed them to care for their horses and go to a couple days’ rest before returning to regular life in the Holly Wing of the Palace.

As soon as the Guard was dismissed, Glorfindel couldn’t help but turn and kiss Erestor. The retreating Guard and Elrond laughed. Erestor returned the kiss enthusiastically, scowled at the laughter and rolled his eyes at the whole display. 

They walked back inside together. Once in the privacy of their rooms Erestor hugged him and peppered his face with light little kisses, carding gentle fingers through Glorfindel’s hair. Glorfindel reciprocated by scooping his mate close into his arms, collapsing onto the couch and more firmly and thoroughly kissing him.

“Three months as spring turned to summer. I hope the trip was worth it.” said Erestor between kisses. His hands were busy up Glorfindel’s sides, feeling for damage. 

“They were hungry for the first month but eventually got better at catching their dinner.” Glorfindel had taken the much younger and less experienced section of the guard, who had grown up in Lindon or other safe havens after the War of Wrath, on a survival trip straight north into the wilderness. “How has the Palace been?”

Glorfindel’s group had gotten correspondence about once a month but letters from Erestor tended to be short and terse in every respect. 

“Under what category? In the House, Lindir’s battle with the squirrel would definitely qualify as the most entertaining news.”

“Squirrel? Did he win?”

“It tried to steal the composition he was writing for its nest…. I think he won but he ended up being tended in the Healing Hall.”

Glorfindel laughed, and Erestor continued, “Outside the House, the Harlond faction made another push for trade tariffs with Numenor, they were shot down by Gil-galad. And one month ago King Oropher of the Woodland Realm sent a new Court embassy that has managed to unite many of the Council factions.”

“Unite the factions? In what way?” Given Erestor’s history, he hoped it wasn’t in attempting to stamp out the Feanorians.

“In hatred of the Embassy of the Woodland Realm. Even the Lothlorien Sylvan and Sindar elves in residence seem to hate them.” Erestor thought about that for a moment before he said, “I think it might be some sort of belief system disagreement in that last case, but I’m not sure because it has gotten as far as actual duels of honor over food preparation, dwarf smiths in Ost-in-Edhil, order and right to speak in Council, and something about shoe styles.”

“Elrond and I have been avoiding him but Gil-galad has scheduled the Solstice Banquet for three days from now, you’ll get a chance to see him then.” As Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, Glorfindel ended up seated at the High Table for all the formal seasonal banquets. Erestor also ended up attending the things and tended to complain to Glorfindel bitterly down their bond about the waste of an evening “watching over-decorated, pretentious fops suck up to the King”. Truthfully, Erestor’s colorful commentary in his head made the entire evening much more entertaining.

Giving up on the thought of ambassadors from the Woodland Realm and banquets, Glorfindel put his hands on Erestor’s shoulders and pulled him down flat the better to kiss and work his hands under Erestor’s robes. 

Erestor pushed himself up again, wrinkling his nose. “You smell. When was the last time you bathed?”

“In a stream? Or in actual hot water with soap?” Glorfindel laughed at Erestor’s expression: they had pushed hard for the last two days getting home and paused only long enough to rest the horses.

Erestor grumbled at him.

Glorfindel’s smile got wider, he’s missed the grumbling noises. “Let’s get a bath then? Together?” 

“We already tried that, remember? Both of us and the water don’t fit in our bathtub at the same time.”

“I was thinking of the Palace bathhouse, but I’m willing to give both of us in our bathtub another try.”

***

When Elrond had first become a Lord in the court of Gil-galad, he and Elros had learned that formal banquets tended to be incredibly stolid and dull affairs. The Solstice Banquet turned out to be an unhappy exception. 

The Ambassador to the Woodland Realm was seated at the High Table across from King Gil-galad. The High Table also contained the major elf lords and ambassadors in residence and spouses. Among others, Lord Cirdan and his Lady were seated on one side of King Gil-galad, Elrond as Herald on the other. Glorfindel and Erestor were seated next to Elrond: as Lord of the House of the Golden Flower Glorfindel was considered a major elf lord in his own right (and so seated towards the middle) and everyone in the Palace could easily agree that Erestor is his mate. 

Apparently, everyone except the Ambassador. 

They were well into the first of the main courses when he politely said to Elrond, “Lindon is much different than the Woodland Realm or Doriath. This is the first time I have met one of them.”

Elrond peered across the table, puzzled. “Them?” he finally asked.

“What do the mortals call them? Whores. That’s it.” His offhand pronouncement was met by sudden shocked silence as the High Table tried to work out who he thought was the prostitute, and by the Valar WHY. Not to mention why he had chosen to bring up this new, bizarre viewpoint at dinner.

Completely oblivious to the consternation he was creating he barreled onward, nodding at Glorfindel where he sat next to Elrond. “The braids quite give it away. How do your terms of service work?”

Elrond sat speechless and frozen at the query. Glorfindel just stared. Lord Cirdan’s wife dropped her fork in her lap. Gil-galad, in the middle of drinking a sip of his wine, coughed until he could breath and said, “Ambassador, this is Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower.”

There was a low snarl to Elrond’s right. Recognizing the voice, Elrond desperately hoped that Erestor would keep a lid on his temper. His Steward starting a fight with the Ambassador would not turn out well. 

The Ambassador delicately wrinkled his nose, “Oh? Then why was he kissing that servant?” He nodded toward Erestor.

Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed. Elrond felt a little light headed: unlike Erestor, it took major talent to aggravate Glorfindel but any insult toward Erestor was certain to do it. Although, eyeing the expressions of the silent High Table, no one would object if Glorfindel and Erestor chose to dispose of the Ambassador to the Woodland Realm right now between courses. 

Gil-galad tried again. “Ambassador, this is Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower and his bond mate and consort Lord Erestor.”

“A male? Impossible.” Elrond broke into a cold sweat as he felt Glorfindel and Erestor’s patience disintegrating. 

It was clear that the King on the other side of him was also losing patience as he snapped, “They are most certainly married and you are highly insulting. I would strongly advise that you apologize, now.”

There was a pause as the Ambassador took in the angry King sitting across from him and turned to Glorfindel and Erestor, “My apologies, I do not come from such a degenerate culture and didn’t recognize you as bonded without rings. Those braids too, much too fancy for a servant’s braids so it was an easy mistake to make.”

They all stared at Glorfindel and Erestor as they glared at the Ambassador. 

The silence was broken by Lord Cirdan, down the table. “I must also insist you apologize for your insults. Only incredible ignorance excuses you; Lord Glorfindel is wearing the feast day braids of a married Vanya male. And I strongly object to the use of the word degenerate.”

Elrond decided it was time to try and defuse the situation. He can at least remove the danger of Glorfindel and Erestor suddenly deciding to be undiplomatic.

Under the table, Elrond curled fingers around Glorfindel’s wrist, feeling the tendons in stark relief. He used his healing talent to say, _“If you and Erestor wish to depart in offence I will not mind. Take the petty cash out of my desk and have a nice dinner in town or something.”_

Erestor must have been linked in very close to Glorfindel because he immediately stood and smoothly executed a formal bow to the King. “Your Majesty, I must insist we depart at this offense. Good evening.”

Gil-galad inclined his head graciously, “Please, have a pleasant evening and I apologize that your meal was so disturbed.”

Elrond ignored the continuing conversation Lord Cirdan and Gil-galad were having with the Ambassador as he watched as Erestor and Glorfindel exit the Hall. Glorfindel had his usual graceful, silent glide. If you ignored the dangerously blank expression, you wouldn’t be able to tell he was angry. Erestor was stalking and with each quietly forceful step Elrond could see a flash of the knives Erestor habitually wore on his calves under his robes. He took a deep breath, one crisis averted. 

Then he froze again as Gil-galad snarled and said, “Ambassador, give me one reason I should not beat you for rudeness.”

Elrond sighed. He really, really wished that dinner was over.

***

Erestor and Glorfindel went back to their rooms and wordlessly sprawled onto the couch. It took a little coaxing but Glorfindel managed to get Erestor to lean back into his arms. The contact comforted both and the silence gradually became quieter. 

As the cold rage Glorfindel could feel echoing down the bond from Erestor slowly drained away, Glorfindel relaxed a little. After a few minutes Glorfindel offered, “He felt very, very old.”

Erestor shot upright. “Old is not a good excuse for exceptional rudeness.” 

Glorfindel paused, trying to figure out how to word it. “I would guess, if pushed, that he is a very, very old Avari lord. In Beleriand, did you ever see any of them? I met a couple in Mithrim, right after the Grinding Ice. They were much like this Ambassador: very proud, very independent. The Avari were very different than Thingol’s folk or really any of the Sylvan or Noldor groups. They spoke a different language and had entirely different customs, they distrusted the Valar and felt the Noldor were interlopers.”

As he listened, Erestor started to relax back onto Glorfindel’s shoulder. 

“Well, I’ll admit we were. Fingolfin tried to open trade: we desperately needed supplies. In the end, most left, offended by everything from the way we dressed and wore our hair, to the way we rode horses, not to mention the trouble they felt we had created with the arrival of Morgoth back in Middle Earth. The oldest Lords especially, were entirely inflexible. Fingolfin and Turgon were just happy they weren’t interested in starting a war over territory because they had the numbers to slaughter us.” 

“Some stayed though and a few even married into Fingolfin or Turgon’s groups. You know, Ecthelion’s wife was an Avari lady.” Glorfindel smiled suddenly, “She was sweet, elegant, motherly and gentle, with incredibly long silver hair. And probably the sharpest mind in the Gondolindrim. People underestimated her regularly.”

Glorfindel sobered slightly and sighed. “I’m not excusing his behavior, but I kind of wonder if he really is an inflexible old Avari lord whose customs are so different, why King Oropher decided to send him as the Ambassador. He had to have known there would be trouble.”

Erestor blew out a long sigh. “So long as I don’t have to deal with him again I will be satisfied.”

Glorfindel smiled down at Erestor. “We have a much larger issue to deal with tonight.”

Erestor stared blankly up at his mate. “We do?” 

“You didn’t hear? Elrond told us to take the petty cash and have a night on the town.” Glorfindel grinned happily, he was already over being angry about the Ambassador. “What do you want to do? More dinner? Skip to dessert?” 

The grin got wider with every suggestion and Glorfindel’s hands slid down to pull Erestor so that he straddled his lap and they were eye to eye. “Stay here and have sex all evening?” 

“Ice cream.”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows rose quizzically. “What’s ice cream?”

“During the Stewards Meeting last week, one of Gil-galad’s under-Stewards said the inn three blocks north of the Palace on the River Street has a new dessert they call ice cream. Apparently it is a frozen milk treat that comes in flavors like chocolate and berry, they serve it with cream, nuts and fruit. It’s supposed to be very good but expensive.” Erestor took a deep breath. “If we get the petty cash as a bribe for not murdering the Ambassador at a state dinner, I want to try chocolate ice cream.”

Glorfindel laughed at the determined expression. He’s not sure that anyone else outside of Elrond has ever noticed that his mate loves chocolate. He leaned forward and kissed Erestor gently. “Ice cream sounds like fun.”

***

The letter arrived by special courier.

_Hail King Erenion Gil-galad of Lindon and the Noldor of Middle Earth,_

_It was with greatest displeasure that We received news of Our Embassy’s precipitous return over the borders of the Woodland Realm. We ordered the presence of Our Ambassador for an explanation of his return and were informed he had retreated to his domain in the East._

_He was promptly disenfranchised and brought into Our presence for questioning. He and his staff have been dealt with._

_Please kindly accept the presence of a new Embassy led by Prince Thranduil, Heir to the Woodland Realm. As Our Heir is underexposed to Outland customs, We call upon you to please kindly correct and instruct him in all courtesies._

_With respect,_

_King Oropher, Lord of the Woodland Realm, its People and Allies_

King Gil-galad stared at the letter. “Dealt with” is terrifying in its connotations and Gil-galad wondered if the Ambassador and his staff were still in Middle Earth and breathing.

His next thought was relief that at least kicking the old Ambassador out hadn’t chilled relations with the Greenwood any farther. In fact, given how agreeable the notorious King of the Woodland Realm was being, Gil-galad had to wonder if the whole thing had been a set-up of the nastier sort: allow a problematic courtier to hang himself by creating problems elsewhere. If the elf lord in question is smart and canny enough to do well as Ambassador, he is away from your court. If the elf lord in question fails, you have cause to strip him of his titles and influence. The ploy depended on the various elven courts being so independent that if the Ambassador succeeded, he still wouldn’t have usable allies in his home court. 

From the outside, it would look like the Ambassador had been chosen for an honor that he failed to live up to. From the inside, the King would consolidate power by removing a problem, and set an example of what happens to troublemakers with the vicious punishment that followed. 

The King could even point to the punishment when apologizing to the other court.

Even better (for the King in question at least), if the Ambassador failed at his job to such an extent that he was imprisoned or executed by another court, the King would have just cause to ask for concessions of that Court. 

Gil-galad shivered slightly. He would never willingly choose such a ruthless method.

The Heir of Woodland Realm, Prince Thranduil, was going to be more difficult to simply eject from the country but he supposes it is nice that he has official permission to bring the Prince to task for poor manners. Probably a concession to make sure that the Prince is allowed entry into Lindon in the first place...

Looking over the letter again he reflected that King Oropher was also a stuck up bastard with his continual use of the Majestic Plural. 


	2. In which Prince Thranduil hasn’t yet noticed he’s in over his head.

After the sudden ejection of the Ambassador from the Palace, life settled back into its regular patterns. King Gil-galad sent Elrond on a short diplomatic trip south to one of the Numenorian outposts. It was a trip by boat, and Glorfindel and Erestor were ordered to stay home. 

During Elrond’s absence a group of petty couriers tried cornering Erestor coming out of the monthly official Steward’s meeting. Erestor had peacefully and almost absent-mindedly ducked out an upper story window instead and walked along the stonework crenulations decorating the casements. It would have gone completely unremarked except that he walked past Gil-galad’s offices and handed paperwork to the bemused scribe there before continuing onward to the open window of his quarters in the Holly Wing. 

(Using their bond, he had shown Glorfindel an image of the scribe’s face as he casually handed papers through the open window, causing his mate to burst into snickers in the middle of watching sparring practice.)

Glorfindel spent several weeks evaluating how his second in command had done in his absence (not bad), changing up the obstacle course again and planning the next phase of training for some of the non-combatants of the House of Elrond. 

It was the end of high summer when Prince Thranduil and a small entourage rode in from the East down the Eregion Road. 

For the formal meeting introducing Prince Thranduil to the Court, Elrond stood to one side between Lord Cirdan and Glorfindel and firmly backed by Erestor and Glorfindel’s second in command. 

Watching the Prince stroll up toward King Gil-galad’s throne, Elrond was impressed for all of the wrong reasons. The Prince was wearing finely embroidered silk robes and a short sword, appropriate for his station. Typical of the Woodland Realm, his very long Sindar-white hair hung straight, unbraided, and untrimmed in a curtain around him. But long used to watching people, both as a healer and a courtier, Elrond noted the way the Prince looked around the court: with a slight judging sneer. He bowed the bare depth for courtesy as a Royal visiting a lesser country, not slightly deeper as a Royal seeking an equal alliance. 

Gil-galad gave a matching shallow bow, and the Prince visibly sighed as Gil-galad began a long winded speech of welcome. Elrond heard Glorfindel’s barely audible whisper, “Think he’s nervous, was never taught court manners, or actually thinks that highly of himself? He’s acting like we should be throwing ourselves down in front of him.”

Elrond glanced over. Glorfindel’s expression was the carefully blank look only perfected by elf lords who have stood through too many long, boring formal speeches but his eyes had a happy sparkle Elrond suspected meant Erestor was sharing his sarcastic opinion of the entire exercise. 

Sure enough, Glorfindel added, “Personally, I think it’s poor schooling. Erestor is voting for horrifically bloated sense of self-importance. Want to make it a bet?”

The heavy brocade formal robes were getting itchy and hot by the time Gil-galad finished his speech. Elrond was beginning to fantasize about escaping the robes for a tunic and light trousers and going riding. By tradition, Prince Thranduil should now give a speech thanking the King for his hospitality and expressing hopes for cooperation between the Woodland Realm and Lindon. 

Elrond hoped it was a fast speech, formal Court gatherings can be tedious and, bets with Erestor and Glorfindel apart, this one was proving no exception. 

Prince Thranduil appeared to have drifted off in thought while Gil-galad was speaking. At the sudden silence he turned to the King and hastily gave a sketchy bow before turning to the watching elf lords, lesser nobles and merchants. Elrond noted that eyebrows were rising in the crowd as Thranduil gave the Court the stiff, slight head bob of a Royal to a servant of middle rank (such as an under-Steward or greater Scribe). Glorfindel snorted quietly next to him. 

The Prince took a deep breath and said, “Greetings greater and lesser nobles of the Great Court of the Noldor of Lindon. I bring greetings from my Lord Father, King of the Woodland Realm.”

Elrond noticed that the Prince’s knuckles were white and his hands shaking slightly where they were mostly hidden in the long sleeves of his robes.

But Thranduil was continuing on, “I have been sent to improve relations between Lindon and the Woodland Realm. My father is the nephew of the great King Thingol but I do not wish to stand on ceremony. I am eager to know what benefits a relationship with you may bring. So do not worry about your lesser rank, please feel free to approach me.” 

Elrond lost the next part of the speech, distracted watching Gil-galad’s expression. He hadn’t seen that particular mix of humor, irritation and exhaustion before. Gil-galad sighed as the Prince abruptly ended with, “That is all I wish to say at this time.”

Before anyone could react, the King gestured to his Master of Ceremonies and the audience was rather unceremoniously concluded as the King (with all due dignity) bolted. The sudden ending startled many of the petty lords, and there was milling and confusion. Prince Thranduil collected his Embassy from the sidelines and swept out, head high. 

Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel and Glorfindel’s second all stared at one another. Finally Erestor said, “I’m not sure who won the bet.”

***

“My Son, I am sending you as Ambassador to Palace of Lindon, I would like you to observe the Noldor court and King Gil-galad.” It was a private meeting out on one of the King’s personal balconies, so King Oropher smiled at his son. 

“My Lord Father, is there anything you wish me to observe in particular?” It was a dream come to life to be sent to Lindon but Thranduil was a little confused about why he specifically was being sent. Since the end of the War they have been in this Wood. King Oropher has led the mixed group of Sindar, Sylvan and Avari elves in the massive building and re-building efforts to create a kingdom after the War. 

The ex-ambassador was a prime example of the cutthroat politics that the King used to maintain control over the huge and diverse domain. Thranduil had watched his father maneuver so that the elf lord in question had actually demanded the right to be ambassador in Lindon. 

King Oropher stared down his nose at Thranduil. “I need information, and you are the next likely candidate by rank to be an Ambassador. You were my first choice in the beginning, but that fool of a Lord was in the way. You at least, I think I can trust to keep your mouth shut and eyes open even if they are a bunch of Noldor degenerates.” 

The King paused, then continued more softly, “You should learn all you can, and make alliances if you are able, because one day you may be King of this Realm or another and will have to deal with them. I think you will find the Noldor to be rude, uncultured folk who worship at the feet of the Valar. They do not have the talent of Singing as we do, and consort with the Naugrim and Aftercomers. Unfortunately, they are spread across the West and even the Golden Wood has allowed them into their midst.”

Prince Thranduil tried not to play with the hair hanging loose over one shoulder and kept his hands in the sleeves of his robes so his father wouldn’t see them shaking with excitement and nerves. “My Lord Father, I will do my best.” 

As Thranduil started to silently speculate on the chance to see more elven courts, the King added, “Do not disappoint me, my son.” Then, as if realizing he sounded as though he had no faith in his child, said awkwardly, “You have always done a good job in the past.”

On that awkward note, the audience was concluded and Thranduil had fled to pack. This was the farthest he had traveled away from the Woodland Realm since moving there after the War and the first time he had been entrusted with a major responsibility entirely on his own. Mindful of the fate of the previous Ambassador he had made his selections of guards and advisors carefully: during the trial it had sounded as though HE had failed to gather good information and then reacted without thinking. 

Thranduil resolved to hold onto his temper no matter what. 

Now at the Palace of Lindon, Thranduil would have expected that everyone would want to meet a prince. He would have expected that by now he would have a minor host of admirers and sycophants. 

But Thranduil had been here in Lindon for almost a week and was beginning to suspect that the most important elf lords were avoiding him. For instance, the Ambassador’s notes (what there were of them) listed Lord Cirdan and Lord Elrond as two of the major lords of King Gil-galad’s court. And he had yet to meet either of them.

Lord Cirdan and his lady wife were apparently away. Coincidentally they had departed for their fishing expedition to the far north the night of his arrival. Lord Elrond was in residence, and had been pointed out by the Ambassador of the Golden Wood. But every time he tried to go talk the short, dark half-elf lord in question vanished. 

Yesterday was a case in point: there had been a music evening, and Lord Elrond had been seated with a glass of wine at one of the small tables in the hall. He had strolled that way, hoping to take an open seat at the table and be introduced. As he rounded the next table over, a Noldor male in a dark brown scholar’s robe had bumped into him. By the time the under-scribe or whatever he was had gotten done babbling apologies the table had been completely empty except for a very large blond elf sitting in Lord Elrond’s place. 

Thranduil would be willing to swear the blond had even been drinking the same glass of wine. He had stared at the anomaly for a long time, but never decided what rank the elf held. He was in a tunic and trousers rather than court robes, hair too nicely braided for a servant, and felt like a very powerful elf lord. 

Of course, the lords here braid their hair like lower ranked servants. Even King Gil-galad has braided hair. 

Okay, so if he assumes that this blond elf is an elf lord, which one? He wasn’t in any of the notes. 

He thought the presentation ceremony had gone fairly well, the Sindarin they speak here is weird and slurred. He still wasn’t quite certain that he had gotten the formal tenses quite correct. And based on the looks he had gotten he was quite certain he had messed up his bows somehow, but he had been too nervous to really pay attention to tiny details like that. 

Today was the first day anyone had made an overture of friendship. They were only a few very minor lords and common merchants, but at least someone has finally invited him for food and wine. Maybe they’ll have more information on the court.

***

The Ambassador of the Golden Wood stared at the letter he had gotten from Lady Galadriel in the regular mail packet. 

After the fiasco of the Summer Solstice Banquet, he had of course written a full report to King Amdir of Lothlorien. Prince Thranduil had only arrived a week ago, this letter would have been sent after he left the Woodland Realm and before he arrived in Lindon. 

Of course, trying to decide what Lady Galadriel was or was not capable of is an impossible task.

He’ll just hand the letter off to one of Prince Thranduil’s advisors. That Lord Galion was probably in the libraries this time of day.

***

The steward of cleaning sat with the other under-stewards of King Gil-galad’s staff that cared for and maintained the Palace and complained. This was the Palace under-stewards’ daily afternoon tea, (just long enough for a cup of tea, a cookie and some gossip) but even the comfort of the sugar biscuits the Palace kitchens had provided were not cheering him up. 

The cleaning staff was unhappy, Prince Thranduil kept making unreasonable demands. This time he had ordered that “better smelling” soap be provided. Given that twelve different bars (including unscented) had been provided in the elegant washroom of the Ambassador’s suite already, it seemed like an irksome request. 

“Even the King is content with that selection!” the cleaning steward wailed. Prince Thranduil had threatened to tell the King he was incompetent, and while the King had faith in his various stewards, it grated to be so maligned.

“Why not the honey soap you did as an experiment two winters ago? I know you haven’t discarded it.” The small gathering glanced up guiltily. 

At the sight of Lord Erestor standing in the laundry room doorway, the stewards relaxed. The various stewards of the King had always admired the Feanorian for his careful stewardship of the House of Elrond and exceptional organizational skills. The fact that now married to Lord Glorfindel, he was counted as an elf lord had been simply accepted as proper recognition where due. They were long accustomed to his habit of turning up in odd places. 

(And they all agreed that some of the elf lords in the Palace were totally worthless from the standpoint of running a Household and they too would rather walk on the roof than encounter them in the hall.)

After a pause to slow his heart, the steward of cleaning said, “Greetings Lord Erestor. Would you join us for tea today?” 

Another steward said, “The honey soap? We set it aside because everyone who wore it attracted wasps while out in the garden.”

Erestor brushed down his robes as he smiled very slightly, “Prince Thranduil doesn’t know that. Just explain that this a special luxury item that even the King doesn’t get to use.” 

The steward of maintenance muttered, “Yes, because the King didn’t like the wasps either.”

Erestor continued toward the door into the hallway. “I need to get back over the Holly Wing, but how about tomorrow?” 

The stewards all smiled broadly. Erestor tends to bring treats from the excellent kitchen staff of the House of Elrond when he joins them for tea. One said, “We’ll look forward to it.”

They watched Erestor vanish down the hall, paperwork under one arm. The steward of cleaning thought silently for a minute. “I think I’ll do it,” he said. 

***

Thranduil wandered back to the series of suites the Embassy was quartered in half-drunk, with a stomachache. The minor lords and merchants he had eaten lunch with had been an interesting and informative group. Too bad their idea of food was so inedible. The wine had been a little better, and offered in exceptional quantities along with the information they had. 

He staggered his way into the main common room of the suite and collapsed onto a couch. As he lay there, Lord Galion walked in from the business office of the suite. “Prince Thranduil, how was lunch?”

Thranduil thought for a moment before he said, “I’m not honestly sure the food was edible?”

Galion stared down at him. “Your Highness, are you drunk or will you require the Healing Hall?”

“Maybe get back to me on that one in about half an hour?” Thranduil smiled hopefully up at the elf lord acting as his aide de camp for this adventure. “At least I think I learned a lot more about the people of the Palace.”

“The Ambassador to the Golden Wood dropped a message from Lady Galadriel off with me.” Galion frowned, “It was sent before we arrived here at the Palace.”

The message was short and to the point.

_Prince Thranduil,_

_Always consider the source and foundation of information or ideas before deciding their validity._

_Galadriel of Lothlorien_

“I would have anyways,” Thranduil griped at the letter. Unlike his father, he actually likes Lady Galadriel. As an elfling in Menegroth, she had told him stories of Valinor when his parents were too busy and sent him off to play. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Considered the source of the information….” Thranduil sighed. “This is the first time I’ve gotten any of the elves here to speak openly, I had to get them all drunk to do it, and it was obvious by the end of the first course that they had an agenda. But it was worth it because I now at least have an idea of the factions in the Palace.” 

Even better, he also now had a good idea of why everyone important seemed to be avoiding him: they were.

He sat up again and continued, “There is the King’s faction, which includes all the major elf lords. There are at least a couple of merchant’s factions. Based on lunch they are both hoping that I have the authority to broker trade deals and absolutely no sense of taste. Then there are the minor lords, they seem to form several more factions but are united in being terrified of the House of Elrond.”

“The House of Elrond? Lord-Herald Elrond Earendilion?”

“That’s where it gets interesting. There is a schism in the Palace: some of the minor lords are frightened of the House of Elrond and Lord Elrond is apparently the heir apparent to King Gil-galad. After that the story gets confused and I’m not sure where truth and petty jealously collide. But apparently the ex-Ambassador made a monstrous scene at the Summer Banquet involving the House of Elrond. That’s a major reason for why all the important elf lords are avoiding us.”

“So the Ambassador insulted the House of Elrond and King Gil-galad ejected him from Lindon?” Galion wasn’t surprised, the ex-Ambassador had been the leader of the most rigidly isolationist faction in the Woodland Realm. He had even considered communicating with Lothlorien to be dangerously open. 

“Yes.” It was more explanation than his Lord Father had gotten out of the ex-Ambassador. By description of the merchants, Lord Elrond was head of a house full of Kinslayers and associated with Lord Celebrimbor Curufinion of Eregion. 

Thranduil personally wondered how a peredhel would manage to successfully lead a house of actual elves. King Gil-galad was likely using him as a front. It would be a useful way for the King to control the combat strength represented by the surviving Feanorians without appearing to have actual ties to the raving psychopaths.

Thranduil wavered to his feet looking more drunk than food poisoned. “I’m going to lie down for the rest of the day and think. My Lord Father specifically wanted me to make alliances with the major players in Lindon and I need to figure out how to corner Lord Elrond.”


	3. In which Lindir has a really big mouth.

Thranduil started his plan the two days later after breakfast. Careful thought after a good nap to sleep off the most of the alcohol made it apparent that he will need to gather more information about the House of Elrond if he wants to try and impress Lord Elrond into becoming an ally. 

The first step was to gather information, so before the daily Council he went to the Holly Wing and wandered the halls. Elrond’s House took up the entire Holly Wing, so Thranduil simply explored, poking his head through the doorways of the various public rooms unhindered. By the time he needed to leave for Council, he had wandered through a dining hall, a crowded kitchen, several storage rooms and down a corridor that appeared to have living areas. 

Getting a good look at the House of Elrond, it appeared that there were a fair number of Noldor and Sindar, and some Sylvan elves in residence. The Kinslayers were not immediately obvious, he would think that psychopaths would stick out but the entire House (like the rest of Lindon) seemed full of elves with highly decorated clothing, jewelry, occasional tattoos, and outlandish hair. Instead of decently brushed out, it appeared braided, beaded and occasionally dyed. (At least Thranduil was fairly certain no elf had ever been born with purple hair.)

Unlike the Woodland Realm, elves in the crowded hallways did not move to the walls to let him pass. The elves in the kitchen mostly didn’t even look up as he walked through. Only one, whom he thought was probably the head cook, had spoken to him. The elf had loomed over him where he had pulled a chair and said, “I need the sink, move.” So as he suspected, the House of Elrond was only lightly controlled and one step from anarchy. That would make his goal easier: Lord Elrond should be easy to impress or bully into being an ally.

Except he hadn’t seen Lord Elrond at all or anyone of importance this morning. Lord Elrond had been sitting in his usual seat at Council though, so it was likely Thranduil had simply missed him while wandering.

After Council he was due to eat lunch with another group of petty lords. He doubted he would get more sense out of this lot than the others but it wouldn’t do to show any signs of patronage at this stage. He could decide which faction best suited his needs after cornering Lord Elrond.

Staring at Lord Elrond from across Council, Thranduil resolved to tomorrow arrive at the breakfast hour in the Holly Wing. 

To Thranduil’s immense disgust, breakfast in the Holly Wing turned out to be an informal affair. Worse yet, Lord Elrond didn’t show up for breakfast. 

He learned a few things of note sitting through the meal though. First, was that the blond “maybe, probably an elf lord” from the music evening lived in the Holly Wing. Thranduil was slightly scandalized when he lightly kissed the male scribe sitting next to him before wandering away from the dining hall. 

The scribe looked vaguely familiar but Thranduil didn’t place him until an hour later: he was sitting behind Lord Elrond during Council taking notes, a personal secretary.

Another discovery was of the little Avari musician sitting across from the scribe. Thranduil remembered his father’s rage that the (then) underage minstrel in training had politely agreed when ordered to appear before the main court for a performance. Then fled in the middle of the night. It had created quite a scandal that King Oropher had misplaced such a talented Singer. Apparently the minstrel had run straight to King Gil-galad instead. 

His Lord Father had decided against punishing the minstrel’s parents when it had become clear the child had been disowned for theft before running away.

The ex-Ambassador’s notes indicated that he had been intending to send the little minstrel back to the Woodland Realm as a gift for the King. But hadn’t indicated where in Lindon the Singer might be found. Thranduil suspected his father would be quite pleased if the minstrel returned to the Woodland Realm. 

He watched all the different elves, male and female eat breakfast. It was a diverse group, but he hadn’t seen any Kinslayers. Maybe they ate elsewhere, where they could be contained?

The last discovery was that breakfast in the Holly Wing, while pedestrian, was rather tasty. Even if one of the kitchen staff had stopped him at the Hall door and politely said, “Your Highness? You forgot your dishes.” And then at his blank stare continued, “Please put your plate in the tray at the front, your silverware in the middle trays and stack your cup at the end.” 

Honestly, who makes a Prince clear their own table?

***

Carrying a covered tray from the kitchen, Erestor walked up the stairs, down the hall and into the main offices of the House. “Elrond, I brought breakfast.”

Elrond looked up with a smile. “Oh good, thank you. I was getting hungry. So what did Prince Thranduil do today?”

Erestor smirked. Elrond had been avoiding the Prince ever since his little arrival speech and upon finding the Prince sitting in the dining hall had chosen to do paperwork instead of his usual breakfast with Erestor, Glorfindel and Lindir. “He lurked sourly in the corner eating breakfast and silently judging the dining hall. As you can imagine, conversation was subdued this morning.” Then, a little more seriously, he added, “Elrond? This Prince is a Royal pain but are you going to hide from him forever?”

“I’m not that bad: Lord Cirdan went sailing. I suspect he was going all the way to Numenor this time.”

“Too bad that’s not an option in our case.” Erestor sighed. “Although I am enjoying watching him run in circles trying to figure out what’s going on.”

Elrond laughed and started to eat. After a few bites he said, “So what’s your opinion of the Prince so far?”

The response was prompt. “Arrogant, pig-headed, underexposed to other cultures and overly assured that rank confers favor. He’s certainly better than the previous Ambassador, but only because he hasn’t overtly insulted everyone in the Palace yet.”

Erestor thought for a minute more. “He is smart and he is trying to learn though. Glorfindel pointed out this morning that he has kept his temper even when he hasn’t any idea what’s going on or people inadvertently insult him. We might have to give him a chance.”

***

A couple of weeks later, Thranduil was ready to try again. He hadn’t tried to corner Lord Elrond again, the peredhel was obviously hiding from him. Since chasing him down was likely to further alienate him, Thranduil had decided to come up with a different plan. 

He had found as much as he was likely to from the different sets of merchants and lords.

And been offered trade agreements and marriage proposals. None of them were in the slightest suitable. (And anyways, some part of him he wouldn’t admit exists has screamed for years that he wants to choose his OWN mate rather than an alliance marriage.) When he politely turned down three different elf maidens (all gorgeous but once again, not suitable) he was horrified when the next clan offered up a son. 

It was a definite shock and he stomped off, unsure of what his response should be to such a degenerate (but obviously well meant) offer. 

He was so completely lost for an appropriate response that for the first time since his arrival he sought the advice of the King. Who laughed until he cried while Thranduil stood there looking awkward. Then, more usefully, offered an entire snifter of brandy. While they sat and sipped, King Gil-galad explained that two males or two females bonding was not unheard of in Lindon OR Eregion. And then with a glint of steel informed him that, “If you make the same mistake of calling Lord Glorfindel a prostitute you will be treated like a naughty elfling with a public apology and then standing in the corner on time out through Council meetings until you can behave like a civilized being.” 

Thranduil left the meeting once again slightly drunk, and of the definite opinion that perhaps he would have been better off asking all his questions of the King in the first place. Unlike his Lord Father, King Gil-galad is amazingly direct and to the point.

And serves good brandy.

And that explained what insult the ex-Ambassador had offered. In that light, Thranduil rather thought it was amazing the ex-Ambassador had left the Palace alive.

And who in the name of the Wood was Lord Glorfindel?

All of which brought him to his next plan: corner the little minstrel. Even if he can’t convince the Singer to return to the Woodland Realm (and upon careful thought, King Gil-galad would likely do something both painful and embarrassing to him if he tried force) he CAN interrogate the thieving runaway. The minstrel likely has all the information he needs.

He had found the perfect spot in the garden to sit and think. Bounded by trees, it was deep in the back of the Palace gardens and a little more like the deep forests of home. 

The only thing that marred it was the exceptional number of wasps. They showed up in force every time he was out lying in the shade of the trees. To his disgust they kept landing on him and biting. Or, even worse, climbing into his clothing only to become alarmed and sting. 

Wasps are too single minded to be Sung away and swarm elsewhere, and (unlike honey bees) too belligerent to be Sung into a gentle and forgiving mood that would allow them to react peacefully to his presence. So he had bowed to the inevitable and moved. But the next spot he had tried (a nice bench under a willow next to the Rose Garden) had the same problem. 

***

Lindir’s days tended to follow a pattern. In the morning, breakfast and then either practice with his two minstrels (he was very proud to be a senior staff member) or the regular meeting of the other senior House minstrels in one of the lesser Halls of the Palace. Lunch, then either arms practice with Lord Glorfindel or touring the House playing for the different groups. Evening was either his own or spent in some sort of musical concert. 

Today was lunch and then wandering the House. After retrieving his lute from the Music Room he decided to start with the scribes of Mannish history. They had their own little research office on the first floor, near the dining hall, and always appreciated his company. 

He trotted past open door into the Palace without looking and was dragged to a halt by a hand that grabbed him hard by the scruff of the neck. Cold gray eyes stared down at him as Prince Thranduil said, “Why hello little minstrel. Can we talk?”

“Let go!” Lindir jerked and drew breath to follow it up with screaming, but Prince Thranduil let go and let him scramble backwards. 

Raising his hands up Prince Thranduil said, “Just talk? I have no intention of dragging you back to the Woodland Realm if you do not wish to return.” He smiled slightly as he stared down at Lindir, “It has been made abundantly clear that I am on probation here and I do not wish to provoke King Gil-galad’s wrath.”

They stared at each other. The silence was stretching thin when a group of the Guard walked in the entrance and halted at the sight of the minstrel and the Prince. Lindir sighed in relief; no matter what, he was safe now. One said, “Master Lindir, is there a problem?”

Lindir took a deep breath and lifted his chin, courage restored. “If my friends can sit with us, just talk is fine. My name is Lindir now.” It had taken a moment to remember: A different name, a different place, different alliances and a different power balance. 

His parents had done their best. They had hugged him, snuck him down to and bribed the healer, dressed him warmly, given him all the food, money and jewelry he could carry, made him promise to write and snuck him out of the Woodland Realm. Then stood before the court and lied that they had disowned him for theft. They couldn’t write often, but he was always glad to hear they were still well. 

And here in Lindon he is the chief minstrel in the House of Elrond.

In the dining hall more of the Guard appeared and settled in at tables when they noticed the crowd already sitting down.

It quickly became evident that all Prince Thranduil really wanted was to indeed ask questions about Lindon and the House of Elrond. Pinned between two of the Guard at the table he and Prince Thranduil had chosen, and surrounded by a dozen or so more soldiers, Lindir was beginning to truly relax. They had set his lute on a nearby table, so his hands were free to gesture as he answered questions. 

Prince Thranduil for his part, had decided to start with easy questions. “Why did that female have purple hair?”

Lindir laughed and the Guards around him chuckled, “That’s Lady Celaril, Lord Glorfindel’s second in command. She’s got a crush on Master Maedion, the scribe who does payroll and has been trying to get him to notice her. She heard that he likes the color purple. We’ve all been trying to ignore the hair color for the past month.”

Thranduil winced as if it would never occur to him to impress someone by dyeing his hair an outlandish color. Hurriedly, as if his hair might be dyed next, he moved on to the next question.

***

Glorfindel was missing part of his Guard. 

With no explanation, no fewer than 15 of his soldiers had failed to turn up for the scheduled afternoon practice. That was a few too many rather responsible elves to have simply forgotten or be out drinking. He left the remainder to start and went looking. He started with the Guardroom and Healing Hall. Finding the Healing Hall empty of anyone in the House of Elrond he tapped at Erestor down the bond to say, _“Erestor? I am missing part of the Guard for the first afternoon riding group. Did Elrond send them on a mission and forget to tell me?”_

Erestor said, _“There’s nothing on the schedule that I know of. Just a moment.”_ After disappearing for a few breaths, his voice came back _, “No, Elrond didn’t send them somewhere…. We’ll look in quarters, where are you looking next?”_

 _“I’ll look through the bottom floor and go up to meet you….”_ Glorfindel mentally groaned: the Captain of the Guard shouldn’t MISPLACE soldiers. As he walked out of the Healing Hall and through the gardens to the first floor outside entrance to the Holly Wing he began to mentally tally the next steps if he doesn’t find the soldiers quickly. Create search parties, inform the King and his staff….

The first room off of the back hallway was stores, the next an entrance to the kitchen. He glanced into the kitchen and stopped. The kitchen crew on afternoon shift was gathered around the door to the dining hall staring out instead of finishing up lunch dishes and beginning prep work for the evening meal. He walked up behind them and craned his head to see what had them so distracted.

***

“Oh no, Your Highness! That’s Lord Erestor who sits behind Lord Elrond at the Council meetings! He is the House of Elrond’s Steward and the Consort of the House of Golden Flower!” Lindir leaned in a little and said more confidentially, “No one knows how old Lord Erestor is!” 

The head cook snorted quietly where he stood just inside the doorway to the kitchens. In a slanted way, Lindir was absolutely correct that no one knew how old Erestor was: they had a year, month, and a guessed week and day. 

He remembered Erestor being hauled into Himring as a tiny toddler and later as a child washing dishes on chores detail. (Everyone in the orphan group had chores, they rotated between them by day.) At about waist height at that age, he had scowled and proclaimed that dishes that could be burnt after the evening meal, rather than requiring a cleaning crew, would be much more efficient. 

But Lindir was continuing. “The House of the Golden Flower is led by Lord Glorfindel of course, so Lord Erestor is tied to two important Houses.”

At Prince Thranduil’s blank stare Lindir said, “Surely you know of Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin?”

Prince Thranduil rolled his eyes, “And I suppose you are going to tell me your Lord Glorfindel is the same hero of the Fall of Gondolin? Who-“

“Killed a Balrog, yes. And who, I might add, has missed some soldiers for the early afternoon practice group?” Thranduil and Lindir looked over to see a frowning Lord Glorfindel had somehow appeared next to their table. 

Prince Thranduil looked up at the “maybe, probably elf lord” from before and internally winced. Up close, it is obvious that the blond elf was a very powerful elf lord who like Lady Galadriel had seen the Light of the Trees. Staring at the armor clad warrior, he wondered vaguely if his Lord Father should perhaps have sent the ex-Ambassador to the healers rather than putting him on trial. Or maybe it had been an incredibly stupid deliberate insult? Even with formal robes, mistaking Lord Glorfindel for a Mortal prostitute seemed unlikely. 

And he may have miscalculated in initially dismissing him. He decided to try for diplomacy. He cleared his throat and said, “Greetings Lord Glorfindel, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced?”

The next voice from behind was a complete surprise. “Prince Thranduil, what brings you to the House of Elrond today?” Turning around, Thranduil realized that Lord Elrond was standing right behind him, Lord Erestor in tow. Both of them were also frowning. Lord Elrond continued, “I sincerely hope it was not to kidnap my Chief Minstrel?”

This close and finally paying attention, Thranduil suddenly realized that Lord Elrond is also a very powerful elf lord. Who is now staring at him as if he can see into his soul, and isn’t entirely pleased with what he has found. Feeling horribly pinned in the dangerous gaze, Thranduil said, “Of course not. I just wanted learn about the House of Elrond! I came now because I was worried about accidentally encountering the Kinslayers!” It was the first thing that came to mind. He spoke quickly and hoped that Lord Elrond hadn’t somehow perceived his half-baked plan to corner him and force him into becoming an underling. 

Lord Erestor snickered into the sudden silence that followed that statement and Lord Elrond said, “I see. I am deeply saddened to inform you that you are sitting with…” His gaze swept the crowd of soldiers. “Eleven Kinslayers.”

Prince Thranduil double checked to make sure his face was still a smooth Court mask. He was beginning to think that the whole “corner the minstrel” plan had been grievously flawed. 

Into the silence, Lord Glorfindel said, “Go to practice and start the warmup sequence. We will discuss this after.” The group of Guard got up and fled. Lord Glorfindel stalked after them. Lindir stayed seated, looking at his hands.

Elrond said, “Lindir? Are you okay?”

Lindir nodded and took a deep breath. “He didn’t threaten me, just asked questions.” He looked up at Lord Elrond with a pleading expression.

Elrond sighed. “Lindir….” Then turned to Thranduil and said, “If you wished to learn about my House, you could have just sent an invitation to me for tea instead of disrupting my afternoon.”

Thranduil remembered Lady Galadriel’s letter telling him “ _consider the source and foundation of information_ ” and wondered if he hadn’t read the message incorrectly. 

Lord Elrond gave Thranduil another of those measuring stares and Thranduil drew himself up proudly to try and avoid cringing. The corners of Lord Elrond’s mouth turned up slightly and Thranduil suspected he had seen right through the act. He said, “Tomorrow night is our weekly House game night. You and your entire Embassy are welcome to come play games.”

“As long as they are better behaved than the last ambassador,” Lord Erestor muttered. 

Silently, Prince Thranduil got up and bowed with as much polite dignity as he could muster and strolled out as if departure from the Holly Wing had been on the schedule for weeks. He focused on keeping his head up, face blank and gait dignified as he walked across the Palace back to the Embassy suites. 

He’ll just curl up there and have a drink to soften his narrow escape. 

Lindir, Erestor and Elrond watched the Prince’s swift departure. Erestor said, “Other than raising everyone’s stress level, was there a point in inviting the entire Embassy to game night?”

Elrond smiled happily, “I think the Woodland Realm is even more isolated than we thought. Maybe doing something social with us will soften the Prince up a little.” His eyebrows quirked together as the smile turned wry. “Besides, Gil-galad told me yesterday that in all fairness I need to do my part to make Lindon more friendly with the Woodland Realm. I think he’s just mad that Lord Cirdan isn’t back yet.”

The sudden gleam in Erestor’s eyes was a little scary. “I’m going to make sure that Thranduil challenges Glorfindel to a chess match.”

***

The next day, as the hangover wore off, Thranduil concluded that attending “game night” would be the easiest way to get to know Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel. The idea that he had sat with actual Kinslayers had made him feel queasy until it occurred to him that they were obviously trusted members of the House of Elrond who had NOT savaged him or the scrawny minstrel. In fact he hated to admit it, but they had been willing to get into trouble by sitting with their friend. 

(It had also occurred to him that with fifteen soldiers sitting with them, he still wasn’t certain which eleven were the Kinslayers and which four were not.)

It was also galling to realize that Lady Galadriel’s letter referred to assumptions HE made without thinking. He had forgotten she had told him about Lord Elrond indirectly long ago in telling him the fate of Beren and Luthien and explaining who Dior was.

Thranduil had assumed that being peredhel would make Lord Elrond weak. He had forgotten about the Mannish heros of the First Age. And peredhel or not, the idea of crossing an elf lord who carried the bloodlines of Lady Melian was terrifying. 

That evening he called together his Embassy and looked across the small ranks: Lord Galion as his aide-de-camp, some scribes and more guards. “Tonight we are going on a mission.” He raised his chin higher, this was really no different than leading a patrol on a spider hunt. “We have been formally invited to the Holly Wing and House of Elrond for their regular night of games. So we shall all be attending in order to gather more information on Lindon and Noldor culture.”

There were startled looks and Galion said, “Your Highness? A game night?”

Thranduil sighed, he’s not sure he understands either. “It happens weekly. Apparently chess, board games and card games along with snacks and drinks. Anyone who wishes to attend is welcome.” He looked at the group, he has higher hopes for the scribes for this one. “I expect everyone to play fair, start no disputes and WIN as many games as possible.”


End file.
